


baking calms me.

by katasstropheee



Series: Charmed - Missing/Alternative Scenes [5]
Category: Charmed (TV 2018)
Genre: Baking, Episode Tag: 3x06 Private Enemy No. 1, F/M, Food Porn, Stress Baking, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-15
Updated: 2021-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-23 15:40:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30057732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katasstropheee/pseuds/katasstropheee
Summary: A missing/alternative scene(s) from 3x06 "Private Enemy No. 1".Hacy + "suggestive baked goods".
Relationships: Harry Greenwood & Macy Vaughn, Harry Greenwood/Macy Vaughn
Series: Charmed - Missing/Alternative Scenes [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2137452
Comments: 8
Kudos: 18





	baking calms me.

**Author's Note:**

> This is something that started accumulating in my head before the episode aired. Afterward, I got inspired to actually jot it down. While it plays no part in the episode itself, I think it could. If you squint.
> 
> Unbeta'd, so excuse any major grammatical errors. I'll fix them later.

Life had taken another turn that week. The “allergy” - name coined by Maggie that seemed to stick more than any other that had come up – was still wreaking havoc on their lives, making the most mundane of activities almost impossible to accomplish. Rooms were designated to only two people at a time, kitchen and lounge not included, and texts were constantly being sent to ensure everyone knew where they were, in case they failed to keep distance.

With every new blister that bloomed onto Macy’s skin, Harry fought the urge to throw everything he had into the research. He almost had – whatever that orb was had taken control of his mind, or the part of it he was most concentrated on. It shook him to his very last foundation, dredging up the worst thoughts and feelings.

And Macy had been witness to it, seeing him fall to his knees in shame and despair, and all over some crystal ball. It was maddening.

That evening, after coming up with all new theories, ones detaining to Macy’s skillsets, they had split. Macy took her research up to the attic, adding it to the hills of papers and scribblings already accumulated. While Harry, for the first night in weeks, went to bed early. His sleep was restless and it took him a minute to find solitude among the ruckus in his brain. But his body was thankful for the rest. His back even let him stand up out of bed without a kink or strain in his stretch. He took that as a good sign – a spark in the midst of an endless fog. He could truly use more of those.

Macy had been that for him over these last three, gruelling months. But he knew she could only give so much. She deserved all of it back, and he owed her. He woke up with a spring in his step, making his way to the first floor to find his love, and to show her the utmost appreciation. Breakfast would be perfect for that.

But a strong smell of something sweet hit his nose before he could reach the room. He paused, letting the aroma wash over him. That’s when he realized what it was.

When Macy was stressed, she threw herself into work. Or research. And when those avenues were all dried up, there was one place Macy always made her way to – the kitchen. She found solace in cooking; in experimenting with taste, in following instruction, and in measuring ingredients like she was toying with chemicals. It was her safe space when science was not enough.

That’s where he found her the next morning. Flour was already covering every inch of surface that wasn’t occupied by bowls, or the electric mixer, or the numerous trays covered in already cooked and cooling baked-goods. Harry took in an enormous whiff of everything all at once – chocolate, strawberry, caramel, and what he could faintly detect as plum.

It pulled him into a memory, sharpening in focus on a back garden. His grandparent’s kind eyes peering over thin-rimmed glasses as he ate his grandmother’s famous plum cobbler. His absolute favourite.

He sighed. “How long have you been down here?”

Macy’s face shot up quickly, like he had shouted instead of mumbled. When she noticed it was merely Harry standing there – barely conscious and sporting a healthy head of bed-hair, she exhaled. “Harry, I-“ she paused, a slow smile growing on her face, turning slowly into a wince as he assessed the scene. “This isn’t what it looks like?”

“You mean, you didn’t open a bakery in our kitchen?” Harry grinned, crawling further in as Macy mirrored his movements and stepped back behind the counter.

“Ah. Yeah, it kinda looks like that, doesn’t it?” She scratches her head, making her curls dance with her touch. “I may have gone a bit overboard.”

“You think?”

She sends him a piercing gaze, only offset by Harry’s inability to fall for her scarlet stare. It only made his smirk tighten. “As if you aren’t gonna benefit from the months’ worth of muffins and cupcakes at your disposal.”

He nodded in affirmation. “Touché.” His eyes lingered along each item, taking in the pristine embellishment, and the scents, until his eyes found the exact dessert he was looking for. Five small, white porcelain cups, brimming with violet fruit and perfectly-cooked crumble on top. He licked his lips.

Macy noticed where his attention had surfaced, smiling suggestively. “Want to try it?”

He scoffed. “For breakfast?”

“Why not?” she shrugged. She lifted a finger, flicking it in a sweeping motion. Slowly, one of the cups fell over the grooves of the tea-towel it had been resting on, sliding along the dusted table till it came to a halt in front of Harry. If he was attempting to fight the urge to feast before, now his efforts were in vain.

“Well?”

His eyes flicked up, balanced between the sweet treat, and Macy’s deepening stare. She bent down to his eye-level, chin resting on her hand. The slight shimmer in her iris made him nervous, stirred by the rise of steam enveloping between them. “I shouldn’t,” he muttered, more as a mantra to himself than as a declination.

Macy pursed her lips. “Go on.” She was egging him on, pushing him to do something ridiculous, and something, frankly, mundane.

It worked. He pulled a spoon from the small bucket idling on the edge of the table, blowing on it like a recently-shot revolver. Macy chuckled at his dramatics, but watched closely as Harry scooped up a big piece of cobbler. He took a pause, letting some heat release from its center, before gently placing the blade of the utensil on his tongue.

The aroma of the dish felt salivating enough, at least until he tasted it. His senses were met with a barrage of flavour, hitting every note perfectly. His eyes closed on their own accord. His throat hummed in pure bliss.

He was so captivated by the first mouthful, he failed to see the reaction Macy had from watching him. Her eyes widened in adoration for appreciation to her cooking, but beneath that was something sensual. Her eyes followed the curvature of his cheeks, to his mouth where his tongue, every now and then, ducked out to sweep a stray crumb off the edge of his lips. She stirred in anticipation for each flick, rolling her shoulders against her own growing arousal.

By the time Harry came back to his senses, Macy had stilled. “Well?” she asks again, cheek’s doused in a violent shade of pink.

He left nothing out of his experience. “Macy, you have outdone yourself. I mean, the floral scent, the perfect crumble, the soft-to-crunch ratio, it’s-“ He put a finger to his lips, eyes dampening with tears of overwhelming joy- “Macy, you are truly spectacular.”

She felt the heat of Harry’s words, of his longing stare, and blushed even deeper. “It’s just a dessert, Harry.”

“Coming from you, my love, it’s more of a masterpiece.”

“Well,” she chuffed, sucking some stray dough off the back of her hand, “I’m glad you enjoyed it.”

“Hm. I may as well finish it,” he sighed, feigning disappointed as he took another mouthful.

She could only smile, chin dipped to her chest as she busied herself with a new bowl of ingredients. The only sound that passed between was Macy’s soft hum and Harry’s incessive chewing, accumulating with the groans of pleasure with each new take of cobbler.

But before long, the silence began to deepen. Harry watched Macy fall back into a rhythm, one she must’ve started before he come in. One she must’ve spent hours perfecting. “Macy?” he said after a second, cautious in his approach.

She perked up, eyes meeting his again. A smile instantly spreading to her cheeks. “Harry?”

“What’s your benefit?”

His question seemed to confuse her, as her right brow twitched nervously. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, what are you getting out of this?” he clarified. “If I, and your sisters get an exorbitant amount of delicious goods, what do you get?” He only asked, because Macy rarely ate the meals she created. Every now and then, she would splurge on a leftover cupcake, or lick the last spoon on cookie dough before washing the rest of the utensils. Otherwise, her gifts were always just that.

She hummed softly beneath her breath, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. She turned nervously, head ducked into the fridge, searching for the milk that was already out and on the table. “Actually, I like watching you eat.”

“Well, yes. It is kind of you to cook for us-“

She slammed the door shut, pausing Harry mid-sentence. The spoon was hovering just at his lips, mouth half open to invite it in. But Macy’s sudden bounce of energy caught him off-guard. As did her clarification. “No, Harry. I meant-“ She leant forward, her stomach meeting the edge of the bench as she crept as close as she could to Harry’s doe-eyed stare- “I like _watching_ you eat.” Her eyes darting to his lips. As if he needed further indication to her desire.

He didn’t. He knew exactly what she warranted, and used it to his advantage. The next spoonful of juices and breadcrumbs melted onto his tongue, with cold silver sliding past his lips. He took every savouring bite slowly, eyes glued to Macy and never leaving. Not even blinking.

She gushed under his gaze of steel, meeting his with her own. “Exactly,” she confirmed.

This is exactly what he had woken up for. What he had made his way downstairs, still adorned in his pj's and comfiest slippers for. This was the Macy he admired, adored, and wished nothing but happiness and safety for.

**Author's Note:**

> [twitter](http://twitter.com/katasstropheee) is where i'm in my element. also, i take requests. ;)


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